For God whan jowes the Judgment bell,

Wi' His ain Hand, His Leevin' Sel',

Sall ryve the guid (as Prophets tell)

Frae them that had it;

And in the reamin' pat o' Hell,

The rich be scaddit.

O Lord, if this indeed be sae,

Let daw that sair an' happy day!

Again' the warl', grawn auld an' gray,

Up wi'

your aixe !

An' let the puir enjoy their play-

I'll thole my paiks.

K

XIV

MY CONSCIENCE!

OF a' the ills that flesh can fear,

The loss o' frien's, the lack o' gear,

A yowlin' tyke, a glandered mear,

A lassie's nonsense

There's just ae thing I cannae bear,

An' that's my conscience.

Whan day (an' a' excüse) has gane,

An' wark is düne, and duty's plain,

An' to my chalmer a' my lane

I creep apairt,

My conscience! hoo the yammerin' pain

Stends to my heart!

A' day wi' various ends in view

The hairsts o' time I had to pu’,

An' made a hash wad staw a soo,

Let be a man!

My conscience! whan my han's were fu', Whaur were ye than?

An' there were a' the lures o' life,

There pleesure skirlin' on the fife,

There anger, wi' the hotchin' knife

Ground shairp in Hell

My conscience!—you that's like a wife!

Whaur was yoursel'?

I ken it fine: just waitin' here,

To gar the evil waur appear,

To clart the guid, confüse the clear,

Mis-ca' the great,

My conscience! an' to raise a steer

Whan a's ower late.

Sic-like, some tyke grawn auld and blind,

Whan thieves brok' through the gear to p'ind,

Has lain his dozened length an' grinned

At the disaster;

An' the morn's mornin', wud's the wind,
Yokes on his master.

XV

TO DOCTOR JOHN BROWN

(Whan the dear doctor, dear to a',
Was still amang us here belaw,

I set my pipes his praise to blaw
Wi' a' my speerit ;

But noo, Dear Doctor! he's awa',

An' ne'er can hear it.)

By Lyne and Tyne, by Thames and Tees,

By a' the various river-Dee's,

In Mars and Manors 'yont the seas

Or here at hame,

Whaure'er there's kindly folk to please,

They ken your name.